The Survivors

by Dinah McCall

  Both men moved aside to give Deborah some room. She doused a handful of cotton balls with alcohol, then thoroughly swabbed the area.

  “What do you think that is?” Evan asked.

  “It could be almost anything,” Deborah said, then dug through the first aid kit. “Damn,” she muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” Evan asked.

  “I had a can of freeze spray. I wanted it to deaden the area around the wound, but it’s not in here.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Mike asked.

  She glanced around the room, then up at the window. The frost patterns were heavy on the glass, reminding her of what lay outside.

  “The snow! I’ll use snow. Mike, there’s a large dishpan on a table on the back porch. Would you please pack it with snow? We’ll use it in lieu of the spray. It’s not great, but it’s better than digging into her back with no painkillers.”

  “God Almighty,” Evan muttered.

  It reminded him too much of how soldiers were patched up in the battlefield, which didn’t make sense, because this wasn’t Iraq. They were in this great old house, only days before Christmas. It was snowing. A day for making snowmen and snow ice cream with Johnny, not digging what amounted to shrapnel from Molly’s back.

  Unaware of his son’s black mood, Mike ran to do Deborah’s bidding. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  “Everything okay?” James asked as Mike hurried past the living room.

  Mike glanced at Johnny, then shook his head.

  James got the message and quickly refocused Johnny’s attention on the fact that Puppy wanted to play with a chew toy that had been in her bed by the fireplace.

  The air outside was already swirling with fresh snowfall as Mike quickly filled the old dishpan. His fingers were so cold they were numb as he carried the pan full of snow back inside.

  “Here we go,” he said, and set the pan on the side of the bed.

  Deborah scooted the pan onto the towels at Molly’s back.

  “Here…both of you. Grab a handful of snow and hold it on the wound. When the snow starts melting, grab another handful and do it all over again.”

  All three of them thrust their hands into the snow, grabbed it by the handful and then pressed the snow against the wound.

  Even though Molly was hovering close to unconsciousness, she reacted to the harsh cold by grimacing, then moaning as she helplessly tried to move away from the pain.

  Evan hated to be causing her discomfort, especially when she didn’t understand what was happening.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” he said softly as he laid one handful of snow after another against her skin. “So sorry…but you’ll feel better soon.”

  When Molly’s skin was ice cold, Deborah moved into place. She put on a pair of latex surgical gloves, then poured alcohol over a small scalpel.

  “Hold her,” Deborah said, and quickly made a shallow incision down the length of the wound.

  Molly’s weak cry of distress hurt all the way to Evan’s soul. Seeing the quick flow of blood made him flinch. So red against skin so white.

  Deborah’s hands were quick, her movements sure, evidence of her emergency training. Once she had an opening large enough in which to maneuver, she grabbed a large pair of tweezers and thrust it into the slit she’d made in the skin.

  “Can you tell what it is?” Mike asked.

  Deborah’s frown deepened as the tweezers fastened on something, then slipped off just as quickly.

  “Darn it,” she muttered, and tried again, maneuvering the tweezers through the welling blood until she felt them catch. “There. Whatever it is, I have hold of it.”

  Molly moaned again and flinched. The motion caused the tweezers to slip again.

  “Oh, no,” Deborah said, then looked up at Mike. “Hold her tighter,” she snapped.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Evan was shaking from empathetic pain.

  “God in heaven…let this be over,” he whispered.

  Deborah grabbed a handful of gauze pads and swabbed the blood away from the incision, then tried again.

  “Okay, okay, I’ve got it,” she cried. “Hold her…hold her…yes, good girl, Molly. Just a little bit more.”

  The men watched in disbelief as Deborah pulled a piece of metal out of Molly’s back. It was a little larger than a half dollar and about three inches in length, and appeared to have been ripped from its point of origin. The edges were ragged, yet sharp as a razor.

  “I can’t believe she’s been walking around with that in her back,” Mike said.

  “I can’t believe we didn’t see it sooner,” Deborah said.

  Molly cried out again when the alcohol hit the open wound, but Deborah kept working. As soon as she’d cleaned the area, she doused it with antiseptic, then threaded a surgical needle and quickly stitched it closed.

  Molly moaned with every thrust of the needle into her skin. Tears spilled from under her eyelids as Evan reached for her hand. Her fingers curled around his and her nails dug into the palms of his hand, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  “There, it’s done,” Deborah suddenly announced. When she swabbed off the area one last time with antiseptic, Molly went limp.

  “Now she passes out,” Evan muttered.

  Deborah covered the stitches with a light bandage, pulled down Molly’s gown, then rocked back on her heels and started to shake.

  “Good job, lady,” Mike said softly.

  “Thanks to all of you,” Deborah said. “Still, I wish we had some antibiotics.”

  Evan looked up. His face was grim and pale, as if he’d endured the pain of every stitch with her.

  “I do. I have some,” he said.

  Mike frowned. “You can’t give her medicine you need to be taking.”

  Evan glared. “I not only can, I will. I’m healed in every way that matters, and I have them to spare.”

  As Evan went to get his pills, Mike removed the damp and bloody towels and the pan of melting snow. When he came back, Deborah was sitting on the side of the bed and staring down at the floor.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Deborah sighed, then looked up. “I haven’t had to do anything like that in years.”

  “You’ve had some training, haven’t you?” he asked.

  Deborah nodded. “When you live this far away from medical help, sometimes knowing what to do makes all the difference between life and death.”

  “Molly was fortunate,” he said.

  Deborah didn’t say anything as she reached for the object she’d removed from Molly’s side.

  “Can you tell what it is?” Mike asked.

  She ran her fingers up and down the bloody metal, then looked up.

  “Not really,” she said, and then her eyes suddenly lost focus as her head dropped downward.

  Snapping trees.

  Plowing through the snow.

  Falling—falling.

  Something coming toward her.

  Turning away—pain ripping through her side.

  Deborah gasped, then inhaled deeply as the images fell away.

  “It’s a piece of the outer hull,” she said, then dropped it in the waste basket beside the bed.

  Mike picked up a wet cloth and gently washed the blood off Deborah’s fingers.

  “You know something, woman?”

  She looked up. “What?”

  “Any man would be damn lucky to have you at his back.”

  The compliment caught her off guard. She started to say thank you, then realized if she spoke she would cry.

  “Here are the pills,” Evan said as he came back into the room.

  They looked at Molly, then at the pills in his hand.

  “Now we’re going to have to wake her up to take them,” Mike said.

  “Better that than let the infection take a firmer hold,” Deborah said.

  “I have some water, too,” Evan said, and began to issue orders. “Dad, lift her head up from the pillow.”

&n
bsp; Mike slid his arm beneath Molly’s shoulders, then gently raised her up enough so that she wouldn’t choke when she swallowed.

  “Molly? Molly, it’s me, Evan. You have to open your mouth for me. You have a fever, and I have a pill for you to take. Do you hear me? Open your mouth.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Molly responded. Evan slipped the pill in between her teeth, then thrust the glass of water up to her lips.

  “This is water. Drink some of it, Molly.” He tilted the glass enough for a little bit of the water to pour into her mouth. “Swallow it, Molly. Swallow the water so the pill can go down.”

  She choked, and as she did, a little of the water ran out of her mouth and down her chin.

  Evan frowned and quickly tilted her chin back just enough so that the pill and water wouldn’t come out.

  “No. Swallow the water, Molly. Swallow it now.”

  This time she did.

  “It’s down,” Mike said as he felt Molly go limp.

  “Thank goodness,” Deborah said. “Now we need to just let her rest.”

  “I’m staying here,” Evan said.

  Mike glanced once at Evan, then down at Molly, and finally nodded.

  “That’s probably a good idea,” he said. “Call if you need help.”

  Evan nodded, but he was so focused on Molly’s pale face and the tears on her cheeks that he never knew when they left the room.

  11

  Johnny was still in the living room when Deborah walked through. They’d all been watching a newscast earlier, but little had been mentioned of the crash. Either they’d missed an earlier broadcast, or the weather was slowing down the gathering of new information. He was sitting on the floor near the fireplace, watching cartoons on television while Puppy lay with her head in his lap. Deborah smiled to herself. She wasn’t sure, but Puppy just might have dumped her for a younger playmate.

  She was still chuckling as she walked into the kitchen, where James was pouring himself a cup of coffee. She smiled wider when she realized Mike was right behind her.

  The sparkle in her eyes was intoxicating, he thought, and he wished he’d been the one to make her smile. “What put that pretty smile on your face?” he asked.

  “Johnny and Puppy. I think they’re falling in love.”

  “I can understand how that might happen,” Mike said.

  Deborah looked nervously from one O’Ryan to the other, as if she’d only just realized she might have done better to leave all of them out in the snow.

  “Let’s eat,” James said. “I’m starving.”

  Deborah smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt, although she was still a little rattled.

  “Um…I’ll just…”

  “Sit,” James said. “You’ve already cooked the bacon, and the toaster is cranking out toast just fine. If I can’t scramble a few eggs, then I don’t need to be sharing your food. Go get the others and tell ’em to hustle or it’ll all be cold.”

  “Johnny is the only one not here. Evan is staying with Molly. We’ll save some food for them.”

  “Good enough,” James said. “I’ll cook the eggs now. Go get Johnny boy…and tell him to wash his hands and face. He’s kissed the dog as much as the dog has kissed him.”

  “And what’s wrong with that, I’d like to know?” Deborah asked.

  Both men turned and looked at her, then burst out laughing.

  “Ah, woman, where have you been all my life?” Mike asked, and went to get Johnny.

  Deborah blushed, then was disgusted with herself. That was something better left to innocent young things, not semiworldly women with psychic abilities.

  Mike soon came back with Johnny, who quickly noticed that his dad and Molly were missing.

  “Where’s Daddy? Where’s Molly? They have to come eat with me.”

  Deborah could tell by the pitch of the little boy’s voice that he was nervous, but Mike seemed in control.

  “Molly doesn’t feel well, and your daddy is staying with her. You sit and eat, and when you’re through, we’ll go see them, okay?”

  “No,” Johnny said. “I want Daddy and Molly to eat with me.”

  Mike shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, Johnny…you can’t—”

  Deborah decided to help before it became a big deal. She felt his panic. The least she could do was take the edge off his fear.

  “I know what, Johnny. I’ll go sit with Molly so your daddy can come eat with you. When you’re through, you can both come and sit with Molly for a while and I’ll eat, but only if you promise to leave some food for me. What do you say?”

  “All right,” Johnny said, and then looked up at Mike, making sure his grandfather wasn’t going to challenge his decision.

  “Thanks,” Mike said as he seated Johnny at the table. “That’s another one we owe you.”

  Deborah shrugged it off with a slow, secretive smile. “I’ll collect before you leave.”

  The hair rose on the back of Mike’s neck as she walked out of the room. What the hell had she meant by that?

  Evan was trying to remember what his wife had looked like, but every time her face finally came to mind, her features morphed into Molly’s. He felt guilty and, at the same time, realized he was feeling more than gratitude toward the woman who’d saved his son’s life.

  The fact that she was moaning beneath her breath from time to time made him nervous. They needed to get her to a doctor, but it didn’t appear as if that would be possible until the weather cleared. As he sat watching, she pushed at the covers, then cried out when the movement caused her pain.

  “I’m sorry, honey…so sorry,” Evan said softly as he pulled the covers back over her.

  A tear slid out from beneath her eyelid and was on its way down the side of her nose as the bedroom door swung open. Evan forced himself to look up.

  It was Deborah. She laid a hand gently on his head, then let it slide, stroking down the back of his neck as she spoke.

  “You need to go eat breakfast with your son. I’ll stay with her until you’ve both finished, then you and Johnny are going to visit Molly together.”

  Evan stood abruptly. “What happened?”

  “Nothing big. Johnny’s just feeling insecure right now, and I can’t say as how I blame him. He needs to know that he’s safe, and your presence confirms that for him.”

  “Jesus,” Evan said, then pointed at Molly. “She’s crying in her sleep. Do you think she’s in bad pain?”

  “Is she restless?” Deborah asked.

  “Some.”

  Deborah sighed. “For now, she’s had all the pain medicine and antibiotics we can give her. We’ll know more later. Just go eat with your son—and save me some bacon and eggs.”

  Evan managed a smile. “Yeah…okay. Once again, the O’Ryans owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  “Like I told your dad, I’ll collect in due time.”

  With one last glance at Molly, Evan hurried out of the room.

  Deborah sat down on the side of the bed long enough to feel Molly’s skin. It was still hot to the touch, but the medicine hadn’t really had enough time to work.

  She straightened the covers, then lightly brushed Molly’s hair away from her face.

  “You don’t know it, but you’re certainly stirring up a lot of emotions with the two youngest O’Ryans. Better be careful, or you’re likely to find yourself permanently attached.”

  Deborah went into the bathroom and brought back a cool wet cloth and laid it on Molly’s forehead. It wasn’t much, but it might give her some comfort from the fever.

  And so she sat, alternating wet cloths and hoping that the snow would soon stop. She would feel a whole lot better once she knew that Molly and Johnny had seen a doctor and been pronounced fit.

  The quiet in the room began to lull Deborah into a false sense of well-being. All she could hear was the soft ticking of a battery-powered clock hanging on the wall and the occasional sound of sleet hitting the windows on the other side of the roo
m. After laying a fresh cool cloth on Molly’s forehead, she walked to the window and looked out.

  The sky was gray and dismal. The air was full of swirling snowflakes. There was a faint draft coming from the upper left-hand corner of the window, and she made a mental note to recaulk it soon.

  The tracks she’d made going to the barn and back were almost obliterated. The chance of communicating with the outside world was, for the moment, slim, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Still, she felt nervous and wasn’t sure why.

  It wasn’t until she turned away from the window that the vision began, and it came so abruptly that she lost her sense of balance and fell to her knees.

  She could feel the nubby texture of the carpet beneath the palms of her hands, but what she was seeing had nothing to do with her room or, for that matter, even her house.

  His heartbeat was erratic. His breathing was shallow and rapid. She could feel panic welling up in his chest as he gazed about at the wall of trees surrounding him.

  She never knew when she realized she was not only looking at the killer, she was simultaneously inside his mind, and the knowledge was sickening. She felt his disregard for human life as vividly as if she’d been a witness to murder herself, and she felt his pain and knew he, too, was trying to recover from the crash.

  He turned away and started walking. Suddenly it dawned on her that if he kept moving at that angle, she would see his face.

  Closer and closer he moved. Deborah’s pulse rate accelerated. She inhaled slowly, trying to direct the vision, and then gave it up as a lost cause. As always, she had no power over what she saw.

  The tension was building in her belly. A few more steps, then she would be able to see him.

  She saw him pause. She held her breath.

  He wiped a shaky hand across his eyes. When he looked up, she realized she was looking straight at his profile.

  He had a long, narrow face, with small light eyes and a nose that appeared to have recently been broken. His hair was awry and stiff with dried blood—hiding most of its mousey-brown shade. His clothes were covered in snow, and there was several days’ growth of beard on his face. He would have been an ordinary man—except for the cruel twist to his mouth.